


Life After

by engray137



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engray137/pseuds/engray137
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life after the Fall was hard for John, Fun for Moriarty, and interesting for Sherlock. 3 years of suffering and playing cat and mouse. What happened in those three years? What happens when Sherlock comes home? How will John react? What happens when the world realizes that James Moriarty is in fact still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cleaning and Distractions.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters. This story is inspired by BBC’s Sherlock and in turn Arthur Conan Doyle’s books. I do not know where this story will lead yet and this story will tell what happened to John, Sherlock, and Moriarty after the Falls of Reichenback. It is in the event that Moriarty did survive.  
> As I said I do not know where this story will lead and that explains the high rating. Hoping you enjoy.

A few weeks after Sherlock was buried, Mrs. Hudson packed up most of the detective’s belongings, and science equipment. John could not help. He could not believe that his friend was gone. He had that one hope in his head. That one small, fleeting hope that said _‘He is still alive, he has to be.’_ At the same time John Watson knew, he could not convince himself of a kinder thought. Despite his hopes that his friend was alive he knew that Sherlock Holmes was indeed dead. He did, after all, watch his friend fall to his death. The Doctor saw the blood on the pavement. Sherlock’s blood. For that very reason, John spent his days cleaning and his nights doing anything but thinking. The reminder of his friend lying on the sidewalk was too much for the man. He would attempt to read a book on occasion. Sometimes John Watson would go for long and late night walks about London. Those very walks always ended with John leaving the bar early in the morning drunk, stumbling as he walked to get a cab, instances that almost always ensured John to wake with a pounding head ach the next morning.

He hardly slept now. Too many nightmares haunted his dreams. Sometimes he would be back in battle watching his friends and fellow shoulders fall. Other nights he would be standing on a sidewalk frozen in place as he watched one of the greatest men he ever knew fall from the roof of a building. On the rare occasion John would be back in the pool with semtex heavily weighing him down the voice of Jim Moriarty ringing in his ears.

_John walked out the door of Baker Street to see Sarah. Making his way to the stop so he could catch a ride on the tube John got a strange feeling that someone was watching him. He forced his eyes in front of him but all of a sudden a taxi pulled up and the driver spoke to John.“Ya need a ride mate” the man seemed to be asking, John just shook his head no, taking the tube would be cheaper, and he didn’t mind stretching his legs for the short walk. All of a sudden the driver drew a gun and pointed t at Johns torso. “I wasn’t asking. Now get in the cab or I will shoot you.”_

_He had to bite back the urge to instantly raise his hands signaling he was of no trouble. His heart started pounding and he slowly opened the door to climb into the cab. Before he knew it, there was a prick, a sharp but small pain in his arm. ‘Needle’ he gathered, while he still had the awareness to think. John swallowed hard trying to fight off the drug. Everything started to go hazy and dark all too quickly. Then he knew nothing more._

_Next he knew he was in a lit room. With a grumble he rubbed at his eyes, in hopes that the blurred vision would clear up. John groaned and then looked around. It was a locker room. Who would bring him to a locker room? Hell, who would kidnap him to begin with? There was a faint smell of chlorine. ‘Pool?’ John thought but didn’t say._

_“Wha-” he shook his head realizing how faint his voice was. “Hello?” he said after clearing his throat. As he went to stand a man walked around the corner. Johns head was still a little fuzzy; he didn’t realize one of his hands was cuffed to one of the bared feet of a bench until he was jerked back down. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you, Jonny boy.” The man almost sang out. He was in a button-down suit, hair as neat and slicked back as well, and he was walking towards John. ‘Christ’ was the only thing that rain through Johns mind. It was Jim. That guy Molly was dating, the one Sherlock said was gay. With an exhale of breath John spoke up, “Who are you?” the anger in his voice was not well hidden._

_The man, Jim did not answer. Instead he snapped his finger and a man walked out. “Jesus Christ” John said scooting away from the two of them. The new stranger was carrying a vest wired with a bomb. “What the hell!” was the next thing the doctor said. All of a sudden he knew why there wasn’t another call. Jim from IT was the bomber, the one playing that game with Sherlock._

_“We’re going to play a little game Jonny, and you’re going to be the opening act.” Jim said with a bright smile on his face.  “You are going to put that vest on. And you’re going to do as I say.”_

_“Like hell!” John spat back._

_“You will do what I say, Johnny, or I will have my snipers shoot Sherlock in the head.”_

John soon felt queasy to his stomach. His breathing became heavy and he went to sit in his chair. The smell of cleaning chemicals in the air did not help at all. With his head resting in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees he tried to even out his breathing before he got sick. Doctor John Watson had fought in a war and seen death and blood first hand. He had been shot and strapped to explosives. Everything that brave man had seen and lived through was nothing compared to the sight he saw and could not get out of his mind.

“Nope.” He said as he jumped out of the seat and ran for the bathroom.

Mrs. Hudson came upstairs to check on him when she heard the clatter and a book that was resting on the arm of Johns chair fall to the wood floor. As she made it up the stairs the landlady saw John walk out of the bathroom sipping on a glass of water, he looked a bit pail. “You alright dear?” She asked him. He did not respond, instead he went to pick up the book and put it on a table, ready to go back to cleaning.  The landlady looked to John with sad eyes but decided to let him be alone.

It was far too quiet in the flat now. Well it was quiet before, but at least the sound of a violin would fill the rooms every once and a while. Now all John had was the telly to fill the silence.  He was thinking about buying up some classical music to drown out the silence when the telly would be no help. The flat was far too quiet, and way too big. It reminded John of his life before Sherlock just a bit more painful and lonely. John’s life was dull again. There were no murder investigations, no more insane antics, or outrageous experiments of Sherlock’s. No more insults or rants, It was all gone now.  The only visible reminders of the detective that remained happened to be the Skull on the Fireplace mantle, the Violin, and the yellow smiley face that Sherlock painted on the wall and then shot at just after the second case they had. Not to mention the décor of the flat itself. That face on the wall mocked John now. It just sat there smiling at him; it knew how John felt, but it just kept smiling. It would never stop smiling.

Lestrade had stopped in a few times to check and see how John had been holding up but the doctor would simply walk right past him and out the door, or completely ignore him. It wasn’t that he now hated the Greg; it was that he just could not be around anyone right now. John did not wish for anyone to see him like this, with only Mrs. Hudson as an exception. He did not know that the DI had been taking things just as hard himself.

Once, John was tossing and turning throughout the night. He was in the battlefield one moment, desperately trying to keep friends alive as shots were fired and then in the next moment he was standing on flat pavement watching a man fall from a building. No, it wasn’t just any man. It was a friend of his. Who could that friend be? He was just talking to the person on the phone. Just shouted his name, but it would not fully register who that man was. The man disappeared from view; there was a wall that blocked John from that man. Suddenly a rush of realization hit and he knew exactly who that man wan. That man was Sherlock Holmes.

John bolted upright. He was still in the chair. His eyes rested on the empty chair. Sherlock’s chair, he was breathing heavy as he recovered from that nightmare. That’s how things started every day, waking from nightmares. Every single day now started with John watching his friend, Sherlock Holmes jump to his death. He wasn’t moving on. John new it was bad that he was doing this to himself but John really did not care. He was on a downward spiral much like the one he was in when he left the battlefield. It was probably time to see his therapist. If he did not see her soon then he knew he would not have the strength do so later on.

On John’s way back to the flat one afternoon the wind started picking up and dark clouds were rolling in. He clutched the two bags full of groceries a bit tighter and quickened his pace back to the flat. The sky was getting darker by the second, and the doctor did not want to be out in this kind of weather when he felt miserable enough already. His heart sank when he reached the door. By now it had started raining, a hard and heavy rain fall and John was soaked to the bone. Suddenly he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was Him, it was Sherlock Holmes. With a sudden turn and the groceries falling out of his arms, John looked around, to no avail. A strong pang came over his heart when he lost sight of the detective. _‘No. You idiot. John you fool. I can’t lose someone in a crowd who is already dead. He can’t even be there to start with you moron.’_ With a hard swallow he went to gather up the things and bring them inside as another thought came to mind. _‘So this is it hu? This is me going insane.’_  Finding the key in his pocket and unlocking the door to 221B. “Oh Hell. Everything’s soaked.” John says aloud as Hrs. Hudson gets up to help him. John sees this and smiles at her just before he quickly retreats upstairs.

Upon reaching the landing he enters through the kitchen, putting away the groceries. He looks down the hall. Sherlock’s bedroom door was still closed and the boxes of science experiments and equipment that used to scatter the kitchen had been left up against the walls untouched. “Mrs. Hudson wants to donate that stuff still.” He said out loud to himself. A little reminder of what she said when they went to Sherlock’s grave.

“What do you think about that Sherlock? Hmm? Were getting rid of your thin-” John couldn’t quite finish. The word hung in his throat oddly. He closed his eyes and took a few breaths before continuing. “Your experiments. Don’t you want to come back and scream at us for even touching them? They are all in boxes now.” John said feeling weird. Silence fell over the flat. And the doctor walked over to sit in his chair, catching himself staring at his friends chair more than twice before he let his head hand and his eyes close. 


	2. Watching and Waiting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock keeps an ever watchful and distant eye on the good Doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters. This story is inspired by BBC’s Sherlock and in turn Arthur Conan Doyle’s books. I do not know where this story will lead yet and this story will tell what happened to John, Sherlock, and Moriarty after the Falls of Reichenback. It is in the event that Moriarty did survive.  
> As I said I do not know where this story will lead and that explains the high rating. Hoping you enjoy.
> 
> Shorter Chapter Sorry.

Wearing a hooded jacket, the tall slender man was walking down a street.  He needed a cigarette, but he also needed to focus. After all, that man, that spider, was still around. He was constantly lurking behind every turn and ever wall, waiting to spin his web even tighter in his favor.

Suddenly the young man’s phone buzzed. After pulling it out of his jacket pocket he saw it was a text from John.

_Delete_

He couldn’t read it, he just couldn’t. Putting the phone back in his pocket he continued down the street.

Despite what he always said, Sherlock did care about a few people. He was not about to risk their lives, that’s why he had to convince the world he was gone. The fall wasn’t as painful as he thought. That could have been because of the drug. Staying under the radar was fairly easy as well. But then again, the art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight. That, by far, is something that Sherlock knew how to do quite well.

Sherlock knew that John was suffering. It had been a few months since that day on the roof, and still John was texting his mobile. It wasn’t healthy. And it would not help anything. Sherlock had to remain dead. But on occasion he would sometimes find his way walking to 221B Baker Street. Sometimes he would see the blond washing the windows.

His phone buzzed again. The screen was lit.

_Incoming call from: Mycroft Holmes._

“What is it Mycroft?” Sherlock said as soon as he clicked send and put the phone to his ears.

“I just wanted to check on you. Your progress with the Moriarty situation how is it? You need to be careful Sherlock. John-“

“I know” Sherlock interrupted his brother. “Listen. I need you to check on John. He’s cleaning nonstop, and he looks unwell. He needs to get out of the flat brother.” Sherlock said that last word with distain.

“Yes, I am aware of Dr. Watson’s wellbeing.” The elder Holmes brother said almost bored now.

_Click_. Sherlock didn’t want to hear anymore. He tore his eyes away from the blond that was completely oblivious to him and continued on, down the street.

One thing was sure about this way of living; Sherlock Holmes was never bored now. He was now, always having to make sure no one recognized him, keeping his eyes out for Moriarty, and keeping himself safe. No more John to look out for him now. He only had three people knowing he was alive.

Mycroft. There was no possible way that Sherlock could convince his brother of his death. And to be honest he did need the help the elder Holmes brother could provide. Sherlock needed eyes and ears on Moriarty, someone who could keep up to date information passing to him. And of course there was Molly, whom he could always count on. She helped fake his death. She helped in getting John out of the hospital just before the fall. Then there was Jim. Moriarty could not be fooled. Sherlock knew that. The best way to save his friends was to convince them that he had died. James planned it all along; they needed to continue their game without interruption and casualties now.

And so they had, Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty, two bright and intelligent proper thinkers of the world. One man who used his mind and vast amount of knowledge to solve the crimes the other man would commit. There was never a more perfect pair.

 

One rainy day after taking a stroll down Baker Street Sherlock spotted John coming back from the grocery store. ‘Why? You should have been shopping yesterday.’ He says to himself as he steels a glance to his friend. But then quickly put his head down, hiding it in the hood of the jacket. For the first time, after the fall, he was unaware of something. Sure he had kept an eye on John all these months and He had seen the State John was in, but he always looked from a distance or was told second hand. He did not see just how bad off John had been. Standing there in the rain, looking at his best friend and just how miserable the man was. It to everything Sherlock had not to go to the Doctor. Instead he went to his brother Mycroft’s. 


End file.
